


Travellin' Soldier

by PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Romance, WWII, War, war-time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire/pseuds/PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire
Summary: Why does he want to write to her? Because it seems like something out of a novel... And those kinds of novels always have happy endings.'I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care, I've got no one to send a letter to... Would you mind if I sent one back here to you?'
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Veronica Lodge, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Sweet Pea
Comments: 57
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

** Riverdale ** ** , wartime **

The cigarette was heavy in Jughead’s fingertips as he waited for the bus. His hand shook slightly, the waves of smoke streaking erratically into the wind. His army fatigues seemed heavier than normal clothes, but that was probably for the best. He’d have to toughen up if he ever wanted to come back to Riverdale. Build up some muscle.

Why he’d decided to come to the bus stop three hours early, he wasn’t sure. Staying at home with his bag packed and room bare seemed like worse torture than anything the Enemy could cook up. Waiting for his dad to wake up seemed equally repugnant. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of a drawn-out goodbye with the old alcoholic.

_The bus isn’t coming for another two hours and forty minutes_ , he thought after a while, eyeing a neon sign across the street. _Pop’s Diner_. He should probably have some breakfast, if this was the last day of Riverdale. He tried to silence the screams and explosions he imagined waiting at the front. 

Pop’s was almost deserted that morning, people at school or work or still asleep. A blonde in a yellow poodle skirt and apron came over to take his order as Jughead sat in a booth. 

‘Coffee?’ She looked Jughead over for a moment. ’Complimentary for the troops.’

‘Well, if you’re offering...’ He smiled and looked at her name tag. ‘Betty.’

Betty smiled and went to brew him a cup. Nothing on the menu interested him as much as the waitress. _I bet there’s nobody like her on the front_ , he thought. He’d wanted to see more of the world than Riverdale, and at the time signing up had seemed like a fair enough way to do it; but looking at her he could see an entirely different future. One with a white picket fence and two kids. He shook his head. 

That was the writer in Jughead, always taunting him with possibilities. He took a deep breath and was back in reality, a black cup of coffee in front of him. 

‘What can I get you to eat?’ Betty asked.

‘Anything. Nothing. I mean-’ Jughead winced at himself. It was early, and his brain was still asleep, dreaming of possibilities. He sighed. ‘Nothing.’

‘Gotcha. Double order of nothing, coming up.’ Betty winked and went back behind the bar. 

Jughead sipped his coffee. The bitter taste bounced around on his tongue, and his brain shook itself awake. 

‘Betty?’ She walked back over to his table. 

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Um..’ He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Just that some part of him needed to have a good memory from Riverdale. Something to remember when the explosions and screams weren’t just inside his head. ‘This is really good coffee. Thank you.’

‘Sounds like you needed it.’ She said, not quite smiling. ‘Anything else, sir?’

‘ CouldYouSitWithMe ?’ He said.

‘Huh?’

‘Could you sit with me?’ He repeated, cringing at himself already.

‘Oh.’ Betty studied the floor. Jughead’s heart fell.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘No, I want to, I just have to be behind the bar when other people come in, you know?’

‘I get it.’

‘But I’m off in an hour.’ She smiled. 

‘This early?’

‘Been working all night.’

‘Oh.’ Jughead looked at his coffee. ‘You probably need sleep then.’

‘Seems like you need someone to talk to.’

She smiled and he smiled right back. 

A few more people trailed into the diner over the next hour, but then another girl with pink hair came into the diner and replaced Betty behind the counter. They whispered together for a moment before the pink-haired girl turned to Jughead and giggled. The blonde playfully shoved her and made her way over to Jughead, leather jacket across her back and apron being stuffed into her handbag. 

‘You ready, mystery man?’

He nodded, and she led him out of the café. He noted the serpent on the back of her jacket- she was a Southside Serpent? _Not the white picket fence type, then. Noted._

‘Where are we going?’ He asked. She grabbed his hand. 

‘Somewhere fun.’ 

She led him to the  centre of the town, to a smaller café than Pops. This was only a few feet across,  sandwhiched between two fancy restaurants. Inside, there were shelves upon shelves of jam, books, and old photographs. It looked like a bookshop with extra strings, and he loved it. 

‘Myrtle’s does the best tea in town. It’s also a place hardly anybody knows, which I figured you’d appreciate.’ Betty grinned and looked at the name sewn onto Jughead’s fatigues. ‘Jones.’

‘It’s Jughead.’

‘Jughead?’ Betty smirked and cocked her head to one side, ushering him onto a low-seated couch in the corner. ‘Why Jughead?’

‘I wore a dumb hat in high school.’ He shrugged and grinned, as if that explained everything.

‘Sweet.’ She nodded in understanding. ‘I’m  gonna order for you. You’re paying. That okay?’

Jughead couldn’t help but smile wider at this girl and her strangeness. 

‘Might as well.’

Betty came back from the counter with a pot of tea and two cups. The woman behind the counter looked at Jughead and then Betty, smiling to herself.

‘Myrtle approves of you.’ said Betty, sitting beside him. She smacked his hand as he went to pour a cup of tea. ‘No! You have to let it steep first, let the water absorb the flavour!’

‘What are you, British or something?’

‘No, I just have good taste.’ Betty said, lying back on the couch and letting her arms spread across the back. Her fingers brushed against one of Jughead’s shoulders, and he suppressed a shudder.

‘We’ll see about that.’

They sat in silence for a while. Jughead stared at the eggshell blue porcelain of the teapot, glinting slightly in the dim café light. The books on the shelves around them seemed  organised in no particular order, but something about the whole place was charming.

‘Tea should be ready now, it’s been a couple minutes.’

Jughead poured it for the two of them, a fruity scent wafting up from the warm liquid. 

‘Strawberry, blueberry, and mint.’ Betty smile spread wide across her face as she held the cup close to her face and inhaled. 

Jughead’s eyes widened as he took a sip. Betty smirked. 

‘Told you I have good taste.’

Silence once again. Awkwardness bit at Jughead for a moment, before he looked over at Betty and saw how she relaxed she was- as if someone had poured her onto the couch and  now she was set for life. Her green eyes met his blues as she cocked her head. 

‘So, you’re off today. Which front?’

‘Sicily... Unless you’re a German spy. Then I’m obliged not to say.’

She laughed. ‘Well, good thing I’m American as strawberry tea.’

‘Good thing.’

‘You leaving a trail of broken hearts behind?’ 

Jughead tried hard not to snort, though his stomach twisted. Nobody would notice him gone, apart from his father. Even then, F.P. probably saw the empty house as a blessing.

‘Nah.’

‘Not much here for you?’

‘Nothing.’ Jughead shrugged. ‘Figured I’d better fight for what’s right, rather than staying home doing nothing all day.’

‘Sounds like you got something to prove.’

Jughead looked at her. Betty’s knee brushed his, her hand coming to a rest on his thigh. Heat rose to his face and he tried to change the subject.

‘What about you? You got a fella?’

Betty snorted. ‘Don’t have to look so painful about  it. Yeah, I _had_ a fella.’ She swirled her pink tea around in the cup and avoided his eyes. ‘Wanted to start a family, then he met mine and decided he’d rather go punch some Europeans.’

‘What’s so bad about your family?’

She smirked. ‘Meet my mama and you’ll find out. Trust me, you’d be _glad_ to be in Sicily if you met her.’

Jughead raised an eyebrow, then looked at the clock on the wall. Hardly an hour until he had to be back at the bus stop.

‘So, you _don’t_ have a fella?’

‘And you don’t have any girl’s heart to break?’

‘Depends what you say next.’ Jughead’s heart leapt in his chest, but what the hell? Might as well ask. If it all went to hell, at least he’d be fleeing town in an hour. ‘Seems to me, you got nobody to send you letters, I got nobody to send a letter to...’

‘Yeah?’ Betty bit her lip and sat up straighter. She looked more innocent than any Serpent Jughead had ever seen poking around town. ‘And?’

‘Well, would you mind if I sent some back here to you?’

A smile broke onto her face and ran riot, dimples digging deep trenches in her cheeks. ‘I might like that.’

They walked back to the bus stop in silence, though at some point her hand felt his, and his fingers squeezed around hers. Her hand was so small, cold in the early morning air. 

‘Jughead, I  gotta tell you something before-’

‘My bus is here.’

Betty grabbed him by the lapels and stood on her toes, her face half an inch from his. Their lips almost brushed, but when he puckered for a  kiss she drew back enough to have him leaning forward with something akin to desire dancing on his lips. 

‘I’m pregnant.’ She whispered. ‘The father’s not coming back... Look, you got my address. You decide you want something when you come home, you write to me. If not...’

He reached a hand up to tilt her chin up and pressed his lips to hers. A lopsided smile came to his face as he kissed her, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because everything in life seemed so obvious, so clear-cut, until Betty Cooper. A beautiful Serpent, kind and sassy, and maybe even a little darker than he thought anyone from Riverdale could be. She was a mystery; that was for sure.

He couldn’t wait to come back and solve her.


	2. Home-Based

_Dearest Betty,_

_I know we didn’t have much time together before I left, but I talked more to you in those two hours than I have to anyone else all year. I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure it means something._

_Look, we ship out in two days. I probably won’t have time to write until then, but there is something else for you to read. Go to my dad’s house, tell him I sent you-there's a note with this letter, give it to him. Best to go early, before he has time to get blind drunk. My writing is in a box under my bed- wooden, big latch- it's easy to find, only decent thing I own. I want you to have it, Betty._

_I’m sure I’ll be home in no time for you to give it back, but if not... keep it safe for me, would ya?_

_Adoringly,_

_-Jug_

_P.S., New York, so far, has no strawberry tea. It's very disappointing. I 'm looking forward to more cups with you, when I get back._

_Be safe, Betty._

Why he was telling HER to be safe, she had no idea. Newspapers seemed to come home with mixed messages about the front every day- some good, some bad. She prayed she’d never find Jughead’s name on the list of the war dead. 

She couldn’t help but smirk a little at the ‘Adoringly’. He loathed to write ‘Sincerely’- too formal, apparently; but ‘Love’ seemed just out of reach. Adoring seemed to describe his letters fairly well, however, so Betty didn’t tease him for it... much.

The Jones house was on the border between the North and Southside- at first glance it looked like something out of a horror movie, surrounded by a neglected garden and a few trees trying their hardest to cling to life. The white paint on the fence had chipped away, showing stained knots on the wood that looked like  agonised faces. 

She zipped up her Serpent jacket and knocked on the door. 

‘Who is it?’ Slurred a voice on the other side.

‘Betty. A friend of Jughead’s.’

‘Boy ain’t got no friends.’

‘I have a note.’

The man who opened the door had bloodshot eyes and greasy, messed-up hair, with the same sharp features as Jughead hidden beneath wrinkles and grime. For a moment Betty wasn’t sure if he’d snarl or just stare at her. She handed him the small note Jughead had enclosed for his father, and he stood to one side to read it, muttering to himself.

‘C’mon in then, no use loitering on my porch. In, out, get gone fast. I got shit to do, missy.’

Betty nodded. If it hadn’t been for her upbringing on the Southside with her mother, she might have felt a shock of fear as F.P. slammed the door behind her and hobbled back to his couch, where the T.V. showed a black-and-white image of some old cowboy movies. He shoved some bottles onto the floor (where there were more bottles) and collapsed into a worn-out armchair, squinting at the letter and grunting as if in reply.

Betty quickly made her way up the stairs and found Jughead’s room. It seemed to be the only place in the house not littered with bottles and messy as hell. The walls were painted ocean-blue and the bed was military-grey, which seemed to suit him. Life in the army probably wasn’t much more austere. A polished typewriter was the sole decoration on his desk, with the keys so well-worn the letters were basically invisible. Betty smiled to herself. 

The box was easily found. When she opened the latch the top popped open and several papers clattered to the floor, some loose, some in envelopes that looked almost yellowed with age. She hurriedly placed the papers back into the box and closed the latch once more. 

The box was dark cherry wood, with plain brass details that seemed as worn as his typewriter. It was about the same size, maybe slightly bigger, and Betty’s arms ached by the time she’d carried it to the bottom of the stairs.

‘You Betty _Cooper,_ by any chance?’ F.P.’s voice reached her just before she could open the door.

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘ Nothin .’ The older man huffed. ‘Just used to know your mother, is all.’

‘You from the South Side?’

‘Long time ago, kid.’ F.P. took a long sip from a bottle, before throwing it on the floor. ‘Now get out.’

.. .. .. ..

It was sunset by the time she managed to lug the box back to her mother's trailer in the heart of the Southside.

‘And where have you been, young lady?’ Alice Cooper leaned against the trailer  door, arms crossed. Betty huffed and re-adjusted the box in her arms.

‘Collecting something for a friend, mom. It’s fine.’

Alice’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where’d you get that box?’

‘From a friend’s house.’

‘Veronica?’

‘No, Mom.’

‘Cheryl?’

‘No, Mom.’

‘That Archibald fellow?’

‘What? Mom, he shipped out last week.’

‘So’s everyone- how am I supposed to keep track?’ Alice snapped. ‘What’s in it?’

‘Just notes.’

‘Betty Cooper, if I find out you’re  courtin ’, after-’

‘Pea shipped out too, Mom. You got nothing to worry about.’

Alice stepped to one side and followed Betty to her room, before her daughter raised an eyebrow and closed the door in her face. Betty slipped off her jacket and smoothed a hand over her belly, which wasn’t starting to show yet. _Thank god_. When her mom found out about this, Betty would never leave the house again. Or worse, she’d be kicked out with the baby on her knee.

She opened the box and began reading. She didn’t stop until the light of dawn began to filter through her trailer window, and it was time for work.

.. .. .. ..

Veronica sipped on her chocolate milkshake and stared at her best friend with wide eyes. Betty wiped the counter and murmured,

‘And then he got on the bus, and that’s the last I saw of him. He’s been writing me every week, though. Hell, sometimes twice a week.’

‘That’s so cute!’ Veronica said. ‘You gonna marry him when he comes back?’

‘Ronnie!’ Betty kept her voice low as more people entered the diner- a group of high school footballers, juniors by the time Betty graduated. ‘You know I can’t think about that right now. Not with my... condition to take care of.’

‘Sounds like this guy doesn’t care too much about it.’ Veronica stirred the whipped cream into her milkshake. ‘ Archikins has been writing me, too. We’re  gonna get married the second he’s home.’

‘Won’t he be all sweaty?’

‘I might let him shower first.’ Veronica winked.

‘Can you get us some coffee, Betty?’ One of the footballers was at the counter.

‘Coming up, Chuck.’

Betty busied herself with work, but her mind drifted back to a certain writer, with windswept dark hair and the ocean in his eyes.  She hoped he was okay, wherever he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world keeps changing, dear readers. A pandemic, global unrest, and apparently a monkey stole some samples of COVID-19 from a lab? Honestly, you never know what 2020 is gonna throw at you... apart from another chapter of Bughead being good to each other, of course!
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe. Thanks for reading. Love and peace to you all.


	3. Travelling Soldier

The camp was nothing much to look at- a bunch of tents in a field, the front a few miles away, close enough that gunfire could be heard every day, relentlessly edging the Allies towards the Nazis.

Training hadn’t been much to think of- he'd learned more about fighting from wrestling his father into bed. 

‘Jones!’ Andrews called from outside the tent. Jughead grabbed a service pistol and tucked it into the holster on his belt. 

‘What’s up, Arch?’

‘Take a look at this.’ His bunkmate, a well-muscled man from Riverdale, handed him a set of binoculars. 

Jughead could hear the battle before he managed to spot it. Through the barbed wire and smoke, he could see the enemy threatening to overwhelm the front lines, fighting in a field that seemed alive with grenades. 

‘What do we do?’ He asked Andrews.

‘Nothing.’ Pea, another bunkmate, took the binoculars from Jughead and set them on a table where the other men were playing cards. ‘We’re waiting for orders. Until then, there’s nothing we can do.’

Jughead bristled at the thought, but looked up towards the hill where the Sergeant's tent was. He could see the older man peering out from behind his own set of binoculars, one hand adjusting a radio, trying to get a signal from someone- anyone. An excuse to go in and fight.

None came. 

'I hear they got a new type of gas,' Pea said when Jughead returned. 'Turns your guts inside out, smells like lemons.'

'I think you mean mustard.' Jughead said. Pea shrugged.

'Somethin' yellow.'

'Anything from Sarge?' Andrews asked. Jughead shook his head.

'We're waiting it out, apparently.'

The explosions didn't stop- neither did the screaming and the gunshots. The worst of it was, every shot sounded the same; Jughead shut his eyes, but that only heightened the sensations: every scream came from the throat of a man, not from an enemy or ally. Every shot came from a gun, not an enemy or ally rifle. He looked at Pea and Andrews as they passed the binoculars between each other and wondered, _If I were in the wrong uniform, would they kill me?_

Jughead couldn’t watch the bloodbath any longer, so he went back inside the tent. He bit back frustration as the sound followed him, screaming, roaring, fearful cries that even the explosions couldn’t fully cover. 

His hands clutched a letter from Betty- one of the few she’d been able to send before he’d shipped out. 

_Dear Jughead,_

_I wish I could send you all of the strawberry tea in the town- I'm sure Myrtle would spare you some._

_I found your box of writing- you're a damn busy boy, you know that? Been working my way through it for near enough a week, and I’ve only just skimmed the milk off the top._

_How’s the front? I’m guessing I don’t wanna know, but I’m sure it’d do you some good to get it out of your system. Maybe when you get home you’ll write an entire crate-full of it. Now that’d be an interesting read._

_What about Italy? You found any gorgeous Venezian girls to entertain you? Ah, I’m sure they’ll never be as fun as that one waitress who showed you the wonders of good old-fashioned American tea._

_The baby is doing fine, thanks for asking. I still haven’t told Mom yet. Hopefully I never have to... maybe I can just keep the kid tucked away safe in a drawer? You’re the writer, here. Give me some ideas!_

_Adoringly,_

_-Betty Cooper._

Her handwriting was graceful, well-thought out. Reading it became a performance as he traced the loops of her name with his fingertips.

Reading the letter had made the noise drift to the back of his mind for a moment, but now it all flooded back- did nobody ever run out of goddamn grenades?

‘Who’s the letter from?’ Andrews was back, lying in the bunk across the tent from Jughead.

‘Some girl back home. Hardly know her.’ Jughead tried to swallow the blush that quickly rose to his cheeks.

‘Romantic.’ Andrews said. ‘I got a gi rl back home, too. Veronica Lodge.’

‘Lodge as in, Lodge Industries? The guy who owns half of Riverdale?’

Andrews grinned. ‘It’s more like eighty percent, but yeah. She’s his daughter.’

‘Damn, man. Congrats.’

‘I’m not with her for the money!’

‘ Sure is a nice bonus though. I bet.’

Jughead was hit in the face with a pillow. 

He smiled and threw it back. 

‘I take it your girl isn’t anything special, then?’ Andrews raised an eyebrow.

Jughead shrugged, heart missing a beat. ‘She’s a girl.’

His bunkmate scoffed. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Betty Cooper.’

‘Woah, what?’ Andrews sat up in his bunk. ‘Betty Cooper from the Southside?’

Jughead mentally cursed.  Of course Archie would know Betty. Everyone knew everyone in Riverdale.

‘That’s her.’

‘You know she’s- uh...’ Andrews bit his tongue.

‘A Serpent?’ Jughead sat up and leaned back against his pillow. Andrews swallowed a secret. 

‘Yeah. A Serpent.’

Jughead shrugged again. ‘What’s wrong with that? At least she can take care of herself. Half the girls in that town can’t even _hold_ a switchblade,  nevermind use it.’

‘I prefer girls who don’t have to.’ Archie chuckled. ‘Betty’s the exception, though.’

‘You know her?’ Jughead pretended not to be interested, but his heart thumped against his ribcage like a trapped hummingbird.

‘She’s Ronnie’s best friend, so yeah.’ Archie cocked his head at Jughead. ‘She’s a nice girl. How long you known her?’

‘Not counting the past few weeks? Two hours.’

‘Sounds serious.’ Archie smirked. ‘What’s she doing writing to you?’

‘Guess I must’ve charmed her, or something.’

‘Well, you do have that look about you.’

‘What look?’ Jughead wiggled his eyebrows and smirked slightly. Archie grinned.

‘Rebel without a cause meets Elvis. Goes off to the front lines.’

Jughead snickered. ‘Yeah, sounds about right.’

He read over the letter again, letting the mental picture of Betty build in his mind, hunched over a desk with a lamp light on, hand swooping like the head of a swan, building those curly words and scattering them across the page like breadcrumbs of her life.

‘What’s she really like?’ He asked, opening his eyes and looking at Archie.

‘Betty?’ Archie smiled a crooked half-smile. ‘She’s a nice girl. Acts tougher than she is, but she’s not had the best past.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It's not my business to say.’

There was silence for a while, as the sun began to dip down over the hills in the distance. The fight had stopped. Now medics swarmed the field, dragging the wounded towards their respective medical places. The sounds of men on the edge of death, being dragged towards life, kicking and screaming, flooded into the silence between Jughead and Archie.

‘That could be us tomorrow, man.’ Jughead said. ‘Come on. It’s not like she’s  gonna know.’

‘I thought you didn’t care about her?’ Archie sniped back. 

‘Call it  curiosity .’

Archie studied Jughead’s face, before he seemed to decide something, nodding to himself.

‘Her mom’s a bitch, and her dad’s in jail.’

Jughead blinked. ‘What for?’

‘She never told me. Doesn’t like to talk about it.’

Jughead made a mental note. ‘Got it. What else?’

‘She’s got the best heart in Riverdale, but she usually only goes with Southsiders.’ Archie arched a brow at Jughead. ‘You’re not quite her type.’

‘What can I say? I’m a real Cassanova.’

When it was time for lights-out, Jughead rolled onto one side and reflected on all he’d learned about his new  favourite waitress. Her mom was leader of the Southside Serpents, a biker gang that roamed across the South of Riverdale, though from what Jughead knew of them they mostly kept themselves to themselves. Archie had taught him the rules: 

  1. No Serpent stands alone.
  2. If a Serpent is killed or imprisoned, their family will be taken care of.
  3. A Serpent never shows cowardice.
  4. No Serpent is left for dead.
  5. A Serpent never betrays his own.
  6. In unity, there is strength.



Her dad was a mystery, and she had one older sister, Polly, who had supposedly moved to England just after the start of the war, allegedly to become a medic, but really to be with her long-term sweetheart Jason Blossom, who was fleeing conscription. Betty never heard from Polly again.

Betty liked baking, and she’d graduated from Riverdale high with  honours \- it was a mystery to everybody why she decided to stay in town and be a waitress. It seemed that her life was sewn together by mystery upon mystery, but Jughead could understand that.

In addition to being an alcoholic, F.P. Jones was also a jailbird- in and out for petty offenses, theft,  drunk driving , and one assault during a barroom brawl. Jughead shook his head. Maybe he had more in common with Betty than he thought.

A particularly strong scream from the medical tent brought reality back to him, and whatever mental image he had of Betty was replaced by the darkness around him. The tent reeked of mildew from the constant rain, and mud had soaked its way into all his socks. 

He knew he wouldn’t be coming home, and until he’d met Betty it hadn’t mattered. There was nothing to hold onto in Riverdale, only rotten memories. But now, Betty.  Betty, s trawberry tea, and a frustrating will to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter this week, to make up for my absence. Hope you guys like it ^_^


	4. We Become Letters on a Page

The letter stuck out like a dead body, pale amongst the regular garbage. Betty pulled it out and rubbed some of the ketchup and egg stains off of it. _Sicily. Undisclosed Location._ For _Betty Cooper_. She mentally cursed- if it had been thrown away, her mom had seen it. That meant trouble.

_Dearest Betty,_

_Things are getting kind of rough over here. I know I told you you couldn’t write to me once I left New York, but I didn’t know how wrong that would feel. I’m still not allowed to tell you where I am, but trust me when I say I’m thinking of you every day. No Venetian prostitute could possibly match up to a waitress of your calibre (that’s how these Europeans spell ‘caliber’- funny, huh?)._

_(Sorry I mentioned prostitutes in the above paragraph. I've been spending too much time with the boys here.)_

_How’s bump? You showing yet? You know, there’s an empty room at my place if your mom finds out. Dad won’t give a shit as long as you give him the note I’ve enclosed with this envelope (reminding him I know where he keeps his beer money, of course). I don’t want you and bump sleeping on the streets. I can’t wait to get home and see how you’re doing._

_You might have noticed the rest of the paper in this envelope. I’ve been writing whenever I can get a spare moment- snippets of stories keep flashing through my head, but there’s never an ending. At least, not a very happy one. I always preferred stories with happy endings, you know. Life’s sad enough already._

_Anyway, you’ll find three poems. One of them is about you. The other two are about my old dogs, Hot Dog (the first) and Hot Dog (the second). I hope you have fun guessing which is which._

_I won’t be able to write for a while, but don’t worry about me. I’m surrounded by good hands here. _

_Actually, I’m sharing a bunk with an old friend of yours- Archie Andrews, if you can believe it. Think he’s going out with another friend of yours. How are you so well-connected? Anyway, Archie’s one of the good ones. There’s three other guys here who say they know you- Pea, Fangs, and Kevin Keller. Archie doesn’t seem keen on those first two- they seem fine by me, though. I’m obviously the brainy looker of the group, but they’re good guys. We’ll look out for each other._

_I hope you got people around you like them. ~~I wish I could be back with you.~~_

_~~Love~~ Adoringly, _

_Jughead._

‘Love’ was scratched out, but Betty read it anyway, smiling to herself and biting the inside of her cheek. She wiped a stubborn bit of ketchup from the paper and tucked the letter between the pages of her diary. _Love._

So, he’d met Pea. And had no idea who he was. _Good._ Betty nodded to herself. She just hoped it wouldn’t come up in conversation. A simple ‘So, how do you know Betty?’ and the truth would spill out of Pea like blood on a battlefield.

‘Elizabeth Cooper!’ Her mom called, appearing in the bedroom doorway. ‘What are you doing, going through my garbage?’

Betty stiffened,  subtly tucking her diary underneath her pillow. 

‘What are you doing throwing my letters away?’

‘If it came from who I think it came from, it’s trash.’

Alice Cooper walked into the room, letting every footstep linger like a gunshot on the hard floor. 

‘Where is it?’

‘Where’s what?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Elizabeth.’ Her mom’s cool blue stare was on her. ‘You know, he never really loved you. He’s probably screwing around with some Italian whores- they keep them stocked on the front lines. They fuck the Germans and the Allies- it's all the same to them. Even if Pea does come back for you, you think he won’t be crawling with disease?’

Betty let her head slump down. The words hurt, even if they were about the wrong boy.

‘Forget about him, Elizabeth. Focus on your _real_ family.’

Betty thought of her father, rotting in prison. Her sister, who’d been MIA since the start of the war. She looked up at her mother, tears brimming on her eyes, threatening to spill onto her cheeks. Betty nodded, and her mom patted her head, taking a strand of her hair in her hand and wrinkling her nose.

‘You know you look better with a ponytail. When you wear your hair down, you look like the rest of the Serpent girls, but you’re not. You’re my daughter.’

She let the implications of those words sink in before she left the room. Betty stared at the wall for a long minute- her jacket was on a hook on the wall, the Serpent on the back seemed to stare into her mind with angry, red eyes. 

Betty sighed, shook her shoulders, closed the door.

Pea wasn’t going to come back- she'd known that much before she’d even told him about the baby. When she had, that was the final straw. No more rendezvous at the back of the drive-in, no more midnight milkshakes where he kept her company at Pops. Just Betty, and a baby that was only going to ruin one of their lives.

At three months along, it was getting harder to hide the bump. Her mom thought she was simply getting fat, and Betty hoped to keep it that way. Her mind drifted back to Jughead’s offer. Could she really stay in that haunted house, with an alcoholic who’d known her mom twenty years ago?

‘What do you think, Bump?’ She asked the gentle swell of her belly, rubbing over the skin there. ‘We could repaint the fence. Maybe water the lawn or something. Would you like to grow up in a house instead of a trailer?’

The silence that followed was deafening. It was hard to imagine that something so quiet would one day learn to talk, and never learn to stop talking, if they were anything like their father.

A house with a white picket fence- that was what Jughead promised her. The American Dream. It sounded like something out of a dime novel, or a silent romance. Betty tried not to let the dream melt in her mind like a wax sculpture. When she opened her eyes she saw the same mildew that had been on her bedroom ceiling for years, that probably wouldn’t ever go away.

Yet, every time she closed her eyes, the fence was there, white and gleaming in the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter! I'm going to try and update on Sundays/Wednesdays for this fic. It's been a rough week, but I finished the manuscript of my first novel today! (Not fanfiction, either- aaaaalll me!)
> 
> Anyway. Please let me know if you're liking the story so far- your words of encouragement keep me going through all the hard times.


	5. Something to Write About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: minor character death, Implied character death, and also Pea is a real asshole.

** A Year Later. **

The Enemy guns cut through the air like alien laserbeams. There was no such thing as formation or order on the battlefield, and the only thing Jughead knew was aiming and firing his rifle, not knowing if any bullet hit their mark. 

Human life was nothing. His life was nothing. The screams that had once been so distant were now side-by-side, and they were coming from men he knew. Fangs was blown back beside him, screaming and bleeding from... _everywhere._

‘Fangs!’ Pea emptied his gun into the air where an enemy might have been moments before. ‘Hang on!’

He didn’t have to look back to tell that Fangs was beyond hearing, beyond seeing. Beyond pain. Jughead reloaded and began again.

The fighting only stopped when too many had died and the sun was too low on the hills to see who was firing at who. The battle had no climax only because it wasn’t over yet- it hadn’t started that day, and it wouldn’t end that day either. It was simply paused until one side woke again.

Fangs’ body lay feet outside of their bunker- it had been cramped a month ago, but now the empty bunks told a different story. Pea sat on the end of one with his head in his hands. Jughead sat beside him.

‘We should go out and get him.’

‘He’s gone, Pea.’ Jughead patted him on the back, sighing as Archie and Kevin came in. Both of their eyes were wide, tired, but both of them stood in the doorway as Pea attempted to push past them. 

‘Let me get him! Let me-’ He was pushed back onto the bed, sobbing in a way that Jughead didn’t think possible anymore. Pea’s fists pounded against Archie and Kevin as he tried to push past.

‘Please! The rats! The  rats’ll have him- I can’t...’ His words devolved into blubbering, and Pea rolled onto his side, continuing talking to himself. Jughead stayed sat on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the rats that scuttled out from under their bunks and towards the gap underneath their door. _They benefit more from the dead than the enemy,_ Jughead thought. 

He found a scrap of paper and a pen that looked on its last legs, the end nibbled to Armageddon and the ink running dangerously close to the nib. He wrote Betty’s name in the corner of the paper, as he’d been doing at least once a week for the year he’d been in this godforsaken pit. 

No good news sprang to his mind. There’d always been something, even if it was small, or strange- rat stew, fresh supplies, an advancement. Now, with Pea hugging Fangs’ pillow and Kevin clinging to Archie (had he lost someone, too?), Jughead couldn’t find anything to write... No. No, there was one thing. One thing he’d been saving, hoping to give to her on a happy  occasion , in person. _That might never happen._ The tears came to his eyes. He wrote with a shaking hand:

_Dearest Betty,_

_I love you. I should’ve said it months ago, but here we are. I just hope that this letter finds you. It’s been hell not having any letters from you, or any photographs, but my god I can remember those hours we had together like it was yesterday._

_I don’t know if you still live with your mom, or if you’re okay, or who the bump is shaping up to be. But I hope you can tell them about me. I can be their dad, if you’ll let me. You can say we got married in secret. You don’t have to live out of wedlock- I know how hard that is, and I don't want that for you. If things go bad here, call yourself a widow. If there’s any way you can use whatever we have together for your own good, use it. I’d strip naked and ballet dance across no-man's land if it would make your life any easier. _

_I hope these letters keep finding you, because honestly, talking to you is the only thing that keeps me going._

_We lost some good men today. But that doesn’t mean they died for nothing. I won’t drag you down with the details, so I’ll keep this brief:_

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_Adoringly,_

_-Jughead Jones._

He stared at the letter for a long time, the wails of Pea and the rustling of the rats seeming farther away the longer he looked. 

Then he crumpled it into a ball and threw it across the room, onto his bunk. He buried his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. His heart wouldn’t stop beating far too fast. 

Pea sat up after a while, eyes bloodshot and voice hoarse. ‘Who’re you always writing to, man?’

‘Huh?’ Jughead had been expecting to hear more about Fangs, or the rats, but the question took him off guard.

‘Whenever we come back inside, there’s always you, wasting the paper rations ‘n scribbling something down. Who you writing to?’ Pea's lips twisted upward in a smile that could only be described as unhinged. _He needs a distraction._

‘A girl.’ Jughead mumbled. Archie looked over from where Kevin still clung to him, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He patted Kevin until Kevin sat down on a chair in the corner, slumped over like a dead man.

‘What’s her name?’ Asked Pea, staring at the floor as Archie came to sit on the bed with them.

‘Betty.’

‘You still write to Cooper?’ Pea sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Goddamn.  I’d’ve thought  she’d’ve dropped you before we even shipped out.’

Jughead chuckled, but it sounded hollow. ‘Well, we don’t get much mail from home, Pea. Maybe she has and I just don’t know it.’

‘I knew Betty.’ Pea said. He kicked a rat that had dared to dash out from under a cot. ‘Pretty girl.’

‘She is.’ Jughead said, but there was a dangerous edge to Pea’s voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

‘I went with her, a couple times.’

‘Did you?’ Jughead didn’t miss the way Archie stiffened. _What does he know?_

‘Woah now, Pea, don’t you think-’

‘I’m talking, Andrews!’ Pea snapped, staring down the redhead. He jumped from his cot and stalked towards Archie. ‘Don’t you think I know? She told me everything, back in the day. Maybe if you didn’t want me to say it you should’ve let me out- let me be with Fangs!’

Pea turned back to Jughead.

‘Yeah, I knew Betty.’ He  hiccuped . ‘Got a thing for guys like us- tall, dark, handsome. Moody eyebrows.’ Pea wiggled his eyebrows before scoffing. He breathed his next words in a hot flash across Jughead’s face. ‘One of the best cocksuckers in Riverdale, and that’s a  helluva compliment.’

A fire started in Jughead’s stomach as he glowered at Pea, who shrugged and straightened, pacing away.

‘Had to call it off when I knocked her up, of course.’ He looked at Jughead for a reaction, but Jughead kept his face blank. His hands curled into fists on his lap- a detail that didn't go unnoticed by Pea, who was grinning like a madman. ‘Told her to hop over a state and get it taken care of, if you know what I mean. I hope she did, for both your sakes.’

Jughead took a shaky breath and felt himself standing up, numb from adrenaline of the battlefield and this new revelation. Pea chuckled, half to himself. 

‘Jug-’ Archie began, but Pea cut him off.

‘Don’t mess with our fun, Andrews.’ He turned to Jughead, who’d taken a couple of steps away from the bed. ‘You  wanna hit me, Jug? You jealous  ‘cause I got more of your girlfriend’s pussy than you?’

Pea stepped forward, now _really_ in Jughead's face. 'Or are you pissed cause she's making you raise my bastard?'

‘Shut the hell up, Pea.’ Archie warned, but Pea was practically foaming at the mouth.

‘You  wanna hit me, Jug? Huh? Oh, what, you thought she was a virgin when you met her? I know she looks pure, but underneath that skirt,  ohohoho she’s-’

Jughead’s fist connected with Pea’s face before anyone knew what was happening. Blood exploded from Pea’s nose, but that didn't stop him goading, 

‘Come on, again! What are you, a bigger bitch than your girlfriend?’

Archie leapt up to hold Jughead back, pinning the lithe boy against the wall. ‘Don’t listen to him, Jug. They could have you both against the firing squad for this kind of shit.’

‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ Pea spat blood onto the floor. ‘Hit me! Hit me so I can _feel_ it!’

‘Don’t!’ Archie shoved Jughead against the wall again. 

Jughead’s breath came in heavy pants. It wasn’t a fire in his stomach anymore, it was a raging inferno. His mouth gaped open in anger, ready to spit something vile back at Pea, and that was when he tasted it.

Faint, but undeniable. A taste that haunted his dreams, and that would haunt his nightmares every night thereafter. He inhaled deeply, just to be sure, and his heart fell when he  realised he was right.

Mustard.

‘Gas!’ He shouted. ‘Everyone  get out!’

It was a cruel trick of the Enemy- to produce a gas so fine that gas masks were powerless against it. He could already feel it beginning to irritate his skin, seeping into any open pores it could find.

He grabbed his helmet and ran, the other three in tow behind him as they also smelled it. 

But if it was in the bunker then it was in the trenches, too. And they knew what awaited them outside of the trenches.  But was there any choice in the matter?

They hopped over the lip of the trench, into the darkness. The last thing Jughead heard before something blasted him backwards was a loud ringing, and a flash of white light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was an intense chapter! I know I'm a day late (Whaaat? Thursday is like the Wednesday of this week, y'all)... I just really wanted to get this chapter right and make it clear why Pea is being such a dick (while also letting Jughead beat the crap out of him, just a little!) I really hope it came through!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for the next chapter! I love you all.


	6. The Last Letter

No letters had found Betty for three months. She didn’t know what had happened, but there was a feeling in her heart, as though a piece of her life was missing. It was only for Charlie that she kept a smile on her face in the daylight. 

So, when the telegram arrived, she couldn’t open it. 

She left Charlie with F.P., who’d gruffly agreed to watch the boy and make sure he didn’t get up to any mischief. 

When she arrived at Veronica’s, the brunette came to the door with red, puffy eyes. 

‘Did you get a telegram too?’ 

Betty nodded, face crumpling as they hugged, clinging to each other. 

Inside, there was already a pot of tea boiled for the two of them. 

Veronica spotted the paper in Betty’s hand. 

‘You haven’t opened it.’ 

Betty shook her head. ‘Can’t.’ 

‘Shall I...?’ 

Betty handed her the paper, hands on her face. When she looked up, Veronica’s cheeks were glazed with tears. 

‘I’m so sorry, Betty.’ 

A great sob forced itself from her lungs. Her lungs were collapsing, and tears tell from her eyes and onto the table as she fell forward onto it, shaking. 

Veronica didn’t have much to say, only read the telegram quietly, half to herself. 

‘Regret to inform you Officer Cadet Forsythe Jones, killed in action Italy, June.’ 

That was it. The world was gone. 

‘Archie’s MIA, too.’ 

‘He’s fucking dead, Ronnie.’ Betty said. ‘Jughead’s dead.’ 

They cried together in silence, one girl with a glimmer of hope in her heart and the other without anything. 

‘I have to go home,’ she said eventually. ‘Charlie’ll be getting antsy.’ 

‘You can both stay here, if you want.’ There was an edge to Veronica’s voice. ‘Please, Betty, I can’t be alone right now.’ 

Betty looked at Veronica for a long time, but really she was looking through her. 

‘Okay.’ 

.. .. .. .. 

The night was a sleepless one. Betty, Veronica, and Charlie sat on the couch and listened to the radio until the boy fell asleep on Betty’s lap. She ran her fingers through his dark, wavy hair. It was a blessing that he looked enough like Jughead for no-one to be suspicious, though of course the Serpents knew the truth. Her mother had kicked her out, but Betty hadn’t wanted any part of the gang anyway. It was no group to raise a family in- she understood now why Polly and Jason had left. 

She leaned down to kiss the top of Charlie’s head. He had a round face, like Pea. But she was raising him with Jughead in mind, to have that same respect and good heart. 

‘He was gonna come back.’ Veronica murmured, holding Betty’s hand. ‘We were gonna get married. We wanted to be married so badly.’ 

‘I’m sorry, Ronnie.’ 

‘I love him so much, Betty.’ 

‘I know.’ Betty didn’t move her eyes from Charlie, who slept soundly. ‘Jughead’s last letter was so happy. He just wanted someone to write to, and he chose me, and he didn't care about any reputation stuff, apart from protecting mine. From the minute we met, it was like that was it for him.’ She chuckled to herself, downcast eyes looking at Charlie's round little face. ‘He never even knew Charlie. Charlie Forsythe Jones.’ 

Veronica’s eyes widened. ‘Not a Cooper?’ 

Betty shook her head. ‘He’s already a bastard. I don’t want him to have the Cooper name too. He'll never be a Serpent.’ 

Veronica nodded, and eventually both women drifted into a sort of half-sleep on the couch, haunted by ghosts. 

.. .. .. .. 

When Betty opened her eyes, Charlie was curled in a ball, asleep at her feet. Why wasn’t he in bed? 

Why were they at Veronicas? 

Then she remembered, and ran to the bathroom to empty her stomach. 

Charlie’s curious green eyes greeted her when she turned around. At just over a year old, he had to try hard to form his words into sentences, but he could do it better than other children his age. Another trait that helped pass the lie of who his father was. 

‘Mama? Why you sick?’ 

‘I’m fine, Charlie. Just a little stomach bug.’ 

‘Please! No sick!’ Charlie rushed forward and wrapped his chubby toddler arms around Betty, who smiled and rubbed his back. 

‘It’s okay, Charlie.’ She wondered what to tell him about the man he’d been calling ‘Dada’ for as long as he could talk. No words came, so she just held him and repeated, ‘It’s okay.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another looong break from posting, but this time I have a good excuse! I've made a little book in support of the Black Lives Matter movement, along with a few other amazing writers and artists. All proceeds are going to the National Bail Fund and Know Your Rights Camp. If you're interested, here's the link:
> 
> https://www.amazon.co.uk/Support-Black-Lives-Anthology-Change/dp/B08GFRZG2W/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=in+support+of+black+lives&qid=1598182828&rnid=1642204031&s=books&sr=1-1
> 
> If you know someone who might be interested, please share this around. We're a small initiative but we're trying to help bigger people make big changes :) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed Bughead! As a way of apologising for the late update, I'm posting the next chapter right now for your enjoyment (and also because I would hate for that pesky cliffhanger to bother anybody).


	7. It's Okay

Things were okay. Jughead was gone, but not forgotten. When the war was won less than a year later, it almost seemed his sacrifice was worth it. He was one of many who wouldn’t be coming home, and Betty grew to accept it.  She and Charlie stayed with FP, who began to treat them gently over time. Jughead's loss had broken the man, and he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since Betty had come back from Veronicas and told him the news, so long ago. He seemed to see Charlie as a second chance at fatherhood, adopting the role of grandfather with a clumsy kind of ease.

Life without his invisible presence was like learning how to walk again. She and Charlie lived with Veronica for a time, until it was discovered that Archie had been recovered; safe, alive, and fully intact. It had been a night of happy tears for both girls. Veronica had already bought a wedding dress, and it seemed they were to make good on their promise to get married the moment he got back to Riverdale.

Charlie tugged at his  mothers skirt. She was at the kitchen sink, staring out of the front window at the garden that had seemed so barren almost three years ago. She’d planted pink peonies that lined the walkway (though a portion of these had been trampled by F.P. in a particularly aggressive game of tag with Charlie). Roses around the perimeter of the house blossomed a full red, and even the lawn was starting to grow once more in patches of bright, vivid green. 

Charlie tugged Betty’s skirt again.

‘Mama!’ She put a plate down and looked at her son.

‘Yes?’

‘I  wanna swing!’

‘We’ll go to the park later, Charlie. We have to get the chores done first.’

The toddler tilted his head, standing on his tiptoes to try and look into the sink. ‘Help?’

Betty chuckled, ‘No, it’s okay, Charlie. You just take the broom and sweep up in here, okay?’

Charlie loved sweeping. Betty turned the radio on for him and handed him the broom. Soon he was twirling in figure- eights around the floor, clanging the broom handle against every available surface without a care in the world. He’d seen his mother learning the twist at Auntie Veronica’s, and he imitated the sweeping leg movements, falling over into piles of dust he’d just swept, but picking himself up and starting again each time. 

Betty smiled to herself and hummed along to the music, shaking her hips as she scoured some particularly persistent beans that were stuck to a plate. F.P. and his beans were the biggest blight of the kitchen. She grimaced as they suddenly broke free from the plate and shot into the metal sink like bullets, splashing the soapy water up into her eyes.

‘Fudgesicles!’

‘No bad words!’ Charlie chastised, wiggling the broom back and forth and jutting out his upper lip. ‘ Gotta say sorry!’

Betty bit back a smile. ‘Sorry, Charlie. Mama just got soap in her eyes.’

‘I can kiss it better?’

Betty nodded and got onto her knee so she was eye-level with the boy. She closed her eyes and he leaned forward and kissed the lids with his sloppy toddler lips, before dashing back to the broom as another song started.

When the kitchen was clean (and had several large piles of dust dotted random points around the floor) Charlie tugged on Betty’s skirt again.

‘Mama, tell me about Daddy?’

Betty’s heart sank. Charlie tugged again, more insistently.

‘Daddy.’

‘About Daddy?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Okay, Charlie.’ 

She sat on a kitchen chair and patted her knee. He scrambled up onto her lap and she wrapped her arms around him. He burrowed into her embrace and sighed, eyes slipping closed. Good. Betty wasn’t sure she could look him in the eyes and tell him the usual stories about Jughead.

He liked hearing about his father’s stories, the ones Betty had found in that old writing box all that time ago. Most were murder-mysteries, but there was one about a blue whale that was poetic, soothing enough for Charlie’s ears. That would have to do. She opened her mouth to speak, trying to remember the start.

A knock on the door had the moment broken, with Charlie instantly jumping up to rush to the door,  inadvertently kicking Betty in the stomach as he launched himself off of her lap.

She said something a little more advanced than ‘fudgesicle’, but  luckily he was out of earshot, already in the next room, leaping to open the doorknob. 

‘Hullo!’

‘H-hello.’

‘Who’re you?’

‘I’m- -um –is this where Betty Cooper lives?’

The blood rushed from Betty’s body. She knew that voice- but she also didn't. Couldn't... it couldn’t be.

‘Mama!’ Charlie yelled, running back into the kitchen and finding her frozen, one hand on the table for support. ‘Mama! There's a Soldier!’

She nodded, though her entire body was numb. She wondered if this is what it felt like to die, her soul lifting out of her body like a whisp of smoke. 

‘He has one leg!’ Charlie said confidently, running back to the doorway to greet their guest. ‘Come in!’

There was a hobbling kind of step that followed Charlie’s far more excited running. Betty couldn’t tell if this was hesitation on his part, or something more serious, but then he was in the doorframe and all logical thought went out of the window.

‘Hiya, Betty.’ Jughead said, leaning against the frame with a crooked smile. Thick purple bags lay under his eyes, he looked like he’d lost weight but gained muscle, and his hands grasped at crutches- why did he need crutches? Betty’s eyes trailed downwards in horror as she  realised he was missing one leg, sewn short at the knee. 

‘ Juh -Ju- Jug-’ She  realised that tears were flooding down her face and landing on the kitchen floor. She  hiccuped what she hoped was his name, before finding her legs and running forward.

When she made impact, she knocked them both backward into the hall. He didn’t seem to care, hands dropping the crutches immediately to hold her closer than anyone ever had before. 

Charlie watched the whole exchange with  mesmerised toddler eyes, before picking up the broom once more and sweeping the floor in a bizarre dance around his mother and her new friend.

Betty couldn’t see anything but Jughead’s blue eyes and the subtle curve of his lip as he smiled, a dimple appearing in one cheek. ‘Hey there, Green Eyes.’

‘Jughead.’ She held him to her- held him harder than she’d clutched Charlie the night he was born, harder than she’d ever held onto anything in her whole life. ‘Are you real?’

‘I’m real, Betty. I’m home.’

Betty giggled for a long time, making him smile wider. She wasn’t sure why she was laughing, or why she stopped. They looked at each other for a long time, leaning in...

‘Would you like some tea?’ Betty said, sitting up suddenly. A smile broke out across his face. It was the only thing about him that seemed untouched by their time apart, that smile.

‘You have no idea how much I want some tea.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Jughead. You know how to surprise a girl xD
> 
> I hope you all liked this chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below!


	8. Explanation

Jughead couldn’t remember how he’d survived- only that Pea hadn’t, and that he hadn’t seen the others since that night. He hadn’t blacked out- memories seemed spliced together like reels of film instead. At one point the world had faded to black and white, like a film played too many times. 

Then she was over him, murmuring comforting things, and he was sure he was dead. How else could he be seeing Betty, after all this time?

He’d been able to open one eye- the other was patched over with cotton, swollen to hell. Rows of dead and dying men greeted his blurred vision, and her- _not Betty_. But a girl with the same blonde hair and green eyes, talking to a redheaded sergeant. _Archie?_ No, this boy was taller, with smoother features. 

When she turned back to  finish putting something on his right leg- was that  okay?- she smiled at him.

‘Am I going to die?’ Jughead asked. She smiled and shook her head.

‘No.’

_Oh._ That put a pause to his rapid heartbeat. 

‘Does Betty know?’

The woman paused, raising an eyebrow before the smile was back on her face. 

‘Who’s Betty, Jordan?’

_Jordan?_ Jughead racked his mind, trying to remember his own name. Why was thinking so hard? _Not Jordan._

‘I’m not Jordan.’

‘Um, yes you are. Sarge pulled you out of the fire himself.’ The nurse  frowned, her green eyes so achingly familiar. ‘It’s normal to feel a little disoriented. You’ll come back in no time.’

‘Betty-’ He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down with one hand. 

‘Calm down, Cassanova.  Betty’ll be kept updated.’ (Fat chance of that, he later found out).

‘Is Archie okay?’ The girl tilted her head to one side. ‘He’s missing. You don’t worry about him right now. ’

There wasn’t much choice, because at that moment she injected him with some opiates that led him to heaven.

.. .. .. ..

They did find Archie, eventually. He took the bed next to Jughead until they decided he needed to be sent to the larger, open-air ward. He had a cough that sounded more to Jughead like a death rattle. 

He tried not to think about that.

.. .. .. ..

The good news was that in his mind he could wiggle both sets of toes. The bad news was that only one set was still  _ attached _ . 

The nurse, Polly, was as kind as possible when it came to telling him. He didn’t believe her until he looked under the sheets for the first time- and then he cried. They weren’t short, manly sobs like a soldier was allowed to do, they were big guffawing baby sobs that would’ve had her drawing a curtain between him and the others, if they had curtains in the hospital. Here, everything was harsh and bare, blood on white tiles and pus on white sheets.

And she held his hand while he learned to walk again. He obviously couldn’t go back to the front, but he couldn’t get out of bed either. Going home?  _Fuggeddaboudit._

He wanted to write to Betty, but how could he tell her about this? He was half a man- or at least, it felt like it. 

‘You can still live a full life, you know.’ Polly said one day, injecting a small (compared to what he’d been on at  first) dose of painkillers. ‘This isn’t where it ends.’

‘How do you know?’ He crossed his arms and wiggled the toes on the foot that wasn’t there anymore. As long as he didn’t look, it was still there.

‘Because I’ve treated hundreds- maybe thousands- of men, and not one of them has pulled through the way you have. You know the first night you woke up? You asked me if you were going to die.’

‘You said no.’

‘Yeah, well, I lied. Call it a charming bedside manner. By the time the red cross got to you, you’d lost so much blood. You looked dead- Jones, Fogarty, Keller- nobody made it.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Jordan, you’re a miracle. Act like it.’

_ Jones _ _? _ Jughead thought for a moment, looking up into her eyes. Betty’s eyes. He knew exactly who Polly was. 

‘I’m not Jordan, Polly.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Polly frowned. ‘Are you feeling alright?’

‘I’m Jughead Jones. Forsythe- Someone made a mistake when they were identifying me- I don’t know how, but all I know is I’m Forsythe Jones, from Riverdale. I know you said you found him on the field, but you’ve gotta believe me. I’m not Pea.’

‘That’s crazy.’ Polly’s eyes drifted to his IV. ‘Maybe I gave you a high dose by accident?’

‘No, you just gave me the wrong identity.’

.. .. .. ..

Several meetings and a whole lot of paperwork later, and Jughead Jones was Jughead Jones again. Jordan- Pea- whatever his name was- was back in the ground, where he always had been. 

A few weeks later, t he war was over, and Jughead was finally going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Short background chapter. I was going to be evil and put this ahead of their reunion and end on a cliffhanger, but I just couldn't do that to you guys ;) Hope you liked the explanation of what Jughead's been up to for all this time!
> 
> Thanks for reading. Much love.


	9. The Picket Fence

**Not Long After...**

The last thing to do outside was paint the fence. Betty and Jughead looked at each other and nodded, before she went to fetch the white paint from the garage.

Charlie took a paintbrush so big that his tiny hands had trouble holding it, dunked it in the bucket up to his knuckles, and then ran along the fence, painting. Jughead kneeled on the sidewalk, painting with careful strokes. Betty was on the other side of the fence, working on the other side of the same piece.

‘Weather’s nice today.’ He grunted, wanting to say something. He wondered if coming back from the dead was always this awkward, and, if it was, how Jesus had managed so well.

‘Very sunny.’ Betty agreed, avoiding his gaze and focusing on the plank she was painting.

‘Weather’s not as good in Italy as it is here.’ He murmured, wincing. Why did he have to bring THAT up?

‘I thought it’d be sunny over there.’ Her voice was soft. It was the first time he’d acknowledged being away since the first night, when he’d told her how he’d cheated death. He wasn’t sure how to begin  apologising for not writing to her for so long, but maybe painting the fence was a start.

‘It must’ve been, but we didn’t see much of that. Just the tops of trenches and some damn rainy days.’ He swore he could still feel the mud between his toes- even the toes that weren’t there anymore still felt permanently cold and stiff. 

‘Must’ve been hard.’ Her eyes studied him until he looked up at her. She quickly went back to painting.

‘It was.’

‘More exciting than painting fences, too.’

Charlie zoomed past them to dip his brush in the bucket once more, then zoomed off to the other side of the lawn.

‘ _Nothing’s_ more exciting than here, Betts.’ Jughead smiled, heart twisting. Did she think he was _happy_ about being away for so long?

‘I’m glad.’ She didn’t sound glad.

They painted in silence for a while, wheels turning in both their minds.

He wondered how to prove to her he hadn’t wanted to go away, not after they’d met.

She wondered when they’d both grown up; if that meant they’d grown apart without even  realising it. 

They existed like this for a while, painting the fence, thinking. It was a strange kind of purgatory, both their hearts in love, eyes catching through the gaps in the fence like the lips of lovers. Neither able to properly say what they meant. 

‘Want some cheese and mustard  sandwiches ?’ She offered, stomach falling as he flinched. 

‘Not a mustard fan. Got anything else?’

‘Strawberry tea?’

He nodded, and she went into the kitchen to boil the kettle. When she emerged with her tea-tray, Charlie was sat on Jughead’s lap, animatedly painting the fence (getting paint more over himself and Jughead than on the fence) and asking Jughead a thousand questions.

‘How’d you meet mama?’

‘Well, I was going to be going away for a long time. I was waiting for the bus, and then I looked across the street, and your mom was there. And she was the prettiest lady I’d ever seen. Then she made me coffee.’

‘Coffee?’

‘It’s a special drink for grown-ups.’

‘ Ooooooh ! ’ Charlie nodded and slapped the brush into the bucket, splattering paint all over him and Jughead.

‘Are you daddy?’

Betty could see Jughead stiffen, his arms around Charlie squeezing slightly. She met Jughead’s eyes and saw the fear there- fear, and something else... hope?

‘Charlie! Animal crackers!’ 

The two-year-old dropped his paintbrush on the ground and ran towards where Betty had set down the tray, but she stopped him. 

‘ Nuh -uh, young man. Wash your hands first.’

He pouted, casting a longing look at the crackers before running towards the garden hose.

‘Sorry about that,’ Betty said, passing Jughead a mug. ‘I’ve never... properly told him.’

‘Am I?’ Jughead asked, hands clutching the warmth of his teacup.

‘W-what?’

‘Am I his dad?’ Jughead blushed. ‘I mean, I know I’m not, but- but do other people-’

‘He’s a Jones on his birth certificate.’ Red crept up the back of Betty’s neck and invaded her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, I- I just didn’t think you’d... I thought, when you came back, we’d...’ She laughed herself, and Jughead watched her blink back tears. His throat felt tight with what could have been. 

‘We were younger  then .’ She finally said, biting her lip and hiding half of her face behind her mug.

‘Betty-’

‘It’s fine!’ She said, putting her tea down a little too fast on the grass, so that half the mug seeped onto the dirt below. She picked up her paint brush and headed off to the other side of the garden. ‘I think more needs to be done over here.’

She sat and painted for a few moments, quietly seething. Then a shadow wobbled towards her, still shaky on his crutches.

‘You know it’s rude to run away from a man with one leg?’ Jughead grinned, setting himself down beside her. 

‘You know it’s rude to let someone think you’re dead for a year?’ She snapped, and immediately regretted it as Jughead’s expression clouded.

‘I’m sorry, Betty. Truly. But you can’t hold that against me-’

‘I can’t NOT, Jug. You were- you were  _ dead _ .’ Her voice broke, hands forming fists in her poodle skirt. ‘And now you come back and you’re- you’re-’

‘I know.’ The place where his knee should have been ached. ‘And I’m sorry, Betty. If I’d known how to write, what to say to you... I didn’t. And if you want me to go, I’ll go. But you can’t be angrier with me than I am with myself.’

His hand found one of hers and gently rubbed over it, expecting to be slapped away. His eyes widened when she took it, and inhaled. 

‘I’m very angry,’ Said Betty.

‘I couldn’t tell.’

They both smiled. 

‘I’m also glad to have you back again.’ She said, letting herself lean against his shoulder. Even after all they’d been  through, he still smelled the same as he had on the crisp autumn day when they’d met.

‘I’m glad I’m back.’ He let his nose rest in her hair. She didn’t smell the way he assumed she would, back in the trenches. She smelled clean, almost floral, with a hint of leather- he'd spotted her serpent jacket on his old bed (now hers), repurposed as a pillow cover.

‘I missed you,’ She said after a while.

‘I-’

That was all they had time to say, before Charlie came out of the house, clanging two spoons together and yelling about his animal crackers. 

.. .. .. ..

Jughead slept in the guest bedroom since he’d returned- it was better not to jostle Betty and Charlie, he’d said. 

The mattress used to seem hard and lumpy, but after the endless nights in his bunk under Archie it felt like the silken sheets of some Indian maharajah, and he drifted away faster than he had in years.

.. .. .. ..

Betty heard the muffled cries only because she had had too much tea that evening and was having a hard time getting to sleep. 

_ I should probably leave him alone. It’s none of my business. He’s still healing. _

When she heard her name through the wall, she decided to investigate.

She knocked gently on the  door, feet cold on the hardwood floor of the hall. 

‘Jug?’

There was another cry, louder, then a whimper. She waited a few  moments before knocking again.

‘Jughead?’

There was a thump of something clumsy and Jughead-shaped falling out of bed, before a light clicked on and she heard him hopping towards the doorknob.

When he cracked open the door, she could see he was just in his boxers and undershirt. His hair stuck up in odd places. A blush crept up her cheeks.

‘I- uh- you sounded like you were in pain.’

She took in his expression for the first time- he looked  _ frightened _ . His breathing seemed a little too fast, and his arms shook even as he leaned on the doorframe.

‘I’m fine, Betty.’ He gulped, avoiding  eye contact. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’

‘I couldn’t sleep anyway.’ She half-smiled.

‘Sorry I disturbed you, then.’

‘As long as you’re okay.’

Jughead nodded, but something lingered between them that stopped him from shutting the door. Betty’s eyes found their way to his leg, and the more she tried not to look the more obvious it felt that she’d  _ seen _ , that she wasn’t meant to have seen, that-

‘Can we talk?’ He asked, just as Betty was about to turn away.

‘I’d like that.’

They sat on his bed. He relaxed against the headboard, pulling the covers up over his legs and relaxing a little when they were out of sight. Betty’s blush had only intensified as she’d come into Jughead’s room, where everything smelled like him. She tightened the knot on her dressing gown, as if it wasn’t hard enough already to breathe.

‘Are you okay?’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Do you want me to, uh, cover up? More, I mean?’

‘It’s fine.’ Betty smiled.

_ She didn’t want to see your stump anyway, but now she has.  _ H is mind chided. _ She was just checking on you because you disturbed her. _

He pushed the thoughts away, as he had been doing since his return. 

‘I missed you too, Betty.’ He said. ‘I didn’t get a chance to say it back in the garden, but I did. And I think I’ve felt more alive today, painting the fence with you and Charlie than I have since the day I left. And I know I can’t ever make up for what I’ve missed, or what I’ve done, but-’

‘You’ve given me more than enough.’ Betty said, looking up from the duvet suddenly. She swallowed. ‘You gave me your writing, you basically gave me your house, you said I-don't-know-what to your dad so he’d look after us, and then you came back from the DEAD.’ She chuckled, hollow. ‘I know you missed a lot. I know I’ve missed a lot of your life, too. You didn’t put everything in your letters, but I know you did everything you could to get back to me in one piece.’ She winced. ‘When I was angry at you earlier... I shouldn’t have acted like that.’

‘Second time’s the charm, huh, Betts?’ Jughead joked, trying to hide the tears in his eyes as he gazed at the ceiling and blinked hard. 

‘I guess so.’ Betty grinned. ‘We got a second chance, now.’ She looked down at her lap and then back up at him. ‘That is, if you want.’

Jughead gaped at her, and her heart fell to her toes. 

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-’

‘I want you.’ He said, before turning red. ‘Fuck. Shit. Sorry. I mean, I- I don’t- I do- I.’ He winced, groaning. ‘I’m  gonna go crawl into a trench again now.’

Betty laughed quietly, like Santa’s sleigh bells on Christmas. ‘You better not.’

He looked up at her. ‘You don’t want me to go away?’

She shook her head. ‘Never again, Jug.’

He thought for a moment, before holding his arms out. She settled into his embrace, listening to his heartbeat. He kissed the top of her head.

‘That’s the second time you’ve ever kissed me.’ Betty chuckled. 

‘I’ve been busy. Ow!’ He grinned as she playfully slapped his arm.

His fingers found her hair, free from the ponytail he’d always remembered her wearing. Soft as cotton. She closed her eyes and almost fell asleep to the rhythm of his heart, before he spoke again. His voice was a quiet rumble, half to himself. 

‘I wrote you a letter that I never sent. Just before- well, you know.’

‘What was in it?’

‘I thought I was  gonna die. Even before we were forced into no-man's land. It was a fucking depressing letter, but there was one good thing in it.’

‘What?’ She breathed.

He was quiet for a moment, smiling to himself. Betty pulled back to look up at him. 

‘What, Jughead?’

‘I love you.’

The breath left her lungs. 

‘What?’

‘I love you, Betty. Betty Cooper, I love you.’ He chuckled to himself, as if he hadn’t aged a day, as if life had been the funniest thing in the world. ‘I never told you, but I love you. Ever since I shipped out, I’ve loved you.’

Betty couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. When she kissed him, she was  crying.

‘Did I-’ Kiss. ‘Did I say something-’ Kiss. ‘-Wrong?’ He asked, gently nudging her shoulders away.

‘No. Not at all. I just love you too. So much.’

They kissed once more, and it was everything from all the movies. All the books. Every bodice-ripper and teenage girl’s diary could have been a testament to this kiss, as both parties poured three years of pain, longing, and love into it. 

When they pulled away, they were breathless, and there was no need for words as they fell back into the position they’d just been- her head on his chest, his hands playing with her hair.

That was how they fell asleep, not long later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Just two more chapters to go, and then this story is over! Hope you're all enjoying watching it unfold. Your comments are lovely, just like you!
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	10. Don't Fence Me In

When they came downstairs the next morning, Charlie was sat on FP’s knee, playing with his building blocks at the kitchen table. F.P. smiled up at them knowingly, before going back to Charlie. 

‘Whatcha building there, scamp?’ 

‘A teepee.’ 

The blocks formed a rectangle that looked more like a wooden brick than anything else. Betty grinned. 

‘You ready to help mama make breakfast, Charlie?’ 

Charlie jumped down and ran over to hug Betty’s legs, nodding ecstatically. 

‘Pancakes!’ 

‘What’s the magic word?’ 

‘Pleeeeeeaaaase!’ 

‘Okey dokey. C’mon.’ 

She pulled out a mixing bowl and handed Charlie the measuring cup. ‘We need two of these in flour.’ 

He tried to jump and scrabble onto the kitchen counter, before Jughead picked him up and held him where he could easily measure out the flour. Betty showed him how to crack the eggs, Jughead helped him pour the milk, and soon the three of them were stirring together, laughing as they spilled a bit of mix on the counter. 

‘I wanna flip them!’ 

Betty shook her head and kissed Charlie’s dark curls. ‘Sorry, sweetie. When you’re a big boy. That’s when you get to learn how to flip them.’ 

Charlie pouted and crossed his arms. Jughead pouted behind him, unable to keep the grin from creeping onto his face. 

‘Watch me, then when you’re older you’ll be really good at it, okay?’ 

Charlie pouted, ‘Okay.’ 

Five minutes of watching Betty flip pancakes, and the dimples took over his face. 

Ten minutes later, they had a mountain of pancakes to feast on. 

F.P. cast looks between Jughead and Betty for the entire meal, before he broke the silence. 

‘It’s good to have you back, boy.’ 

‘Good to be back.’ 

They kept eating, until eventually Charlie was excused from the table to go play with his blocks in the living room. Betty went to watch him, squeezing Jughead’s hand before walking into the living room. 

‘When’d you meet her?’ F.P. asked. 

‘Day I shipped out. She was a waitress- made me a damn good coffee.’ 

‘You mean you knew her for two hours and decided to move in together?’ 

‘I guess so.’ 

‘Damn. Reminds me of your mom.’ F.P. chuckled. ‘I’m glad you found her. She pulled me out of the gutter too many times to count, when you were away. Made sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit.’ He studied his pancakes. ‘I don’t do that stuff anymore, you know.’ 

‘Betty’s a good one.’ Jughead said, unsure what to say. 

‘I take it the boy ain’t yours, then?’ 

‘Does it matter?’ 

‘Hell no.’ F.P. sipped his orange juice and grinned. ‘He’s as good as yours, anyway. Kid keeps trying to break into your writing box- between me and Betty, we have to figure out a new hiding place every week. And I’ve never seen Betty with anyone else, for the record. Even when you were dead. Well, apart from that Lodge girl, but she’s spoken for, or so I’ve heard.’ 

‘Lucky for me.’ Jughead grinned, looking past F.P. to watch Betty playing with Charlie and a set of tin soldiers. ‘I reckon she was worth the wait.’ 

.. .. .. ..

Domestic bliss settled over the house, Jughead moving back into his old room, and Betty's bed. It lasted until the third Sunday of the month. Jughead woke up to a cold bed, and when he came downstairs Betty had her hair tied up in a pink bandana. She fluttered about the completely transformed house with a broom in one hand and  feather duster in the other.

'Everything okay?'

'Oh, Jughead!' She gasped, handing him a box. 'Put these on the mantlepiece and make sure they're clean.'

He opened the box and raised an eyebrow. 'Motorcycle... angels?'

'Family heirlooms.' Betty put a hand to her forehead. 'I forgot to tell you! Once a month, my mom comes around for Sunday lunch. We try to keep things civil. We didn't talk for a while after she kicked me out, but I bumped into her one day, and I had Charlie... and she decided to make an effort. Charlie loves his grandma.'

'And you redecorate the whole house for her?' 

It wasn't an overstatement. The plain wooden table had a white lace tablecloth, it was set with a shiny black teapot and matching china. There were little cucumber sandwiches all cut into perfect crustless triangles, and he didn't  recognise any of the plates on the table. On closer inspection, they were hand-decorated with little green serpents and pink flowers. 

The living room tables were covered in doilies and a black Serpent-emblazoned blanket, looking like a hangout for a biker grandma. Jughead guessed that was a good way of describing Alice, the Serpent Queen.

'My mom gave me a lot of stuff when she started getting involved with Charlie. She wants him to know about his heritage- I don't want him to, not at his age. But when she comes over, it's easier to keep the peace if she sees the biker angels and snakes everywhere.'

Jughead frowned, before shrugging and pecking Betty on the lips. 'If that's what you have to do, I'll help however I can.'

He admired the angels- they were almost a perfect visual metaphor for Betty- beautiful, with long blonde hair and pink lipstick-smiles, but their leather jackets and Harley Davidsons messed with the perfection of the image- or enhanced it, he smiled to himself. 

The doorbell rang, and Betty whipped around from where she had been boiling eggs. 'Charlie!' She half-screamed. 

Charlie appeared in his Sunday best, as if he never was a rowdy or energetic boy like he was the rest of the month. 'Yes, Mama?'

'Your grandmama's at the door. Why don't you go let her in?' Betty shook her hair out of her bandana and looked at Jughead. 'How do I look?'

'Like an angel about to motorcycle into battle.' Jughead grinned. 'Perfect.'

She smiled, but that quickly faded when a shadow darkened their doorway. 

‘Hello, Elizabeth.’

‘Hi, mom.’

‘Grandma bought books!’ Charlie said, face only just visible above the pile. 

‘Wow! Did you say thank you?’

‘Thank you, Grandma!’

‘It’s alright, darling.’ The warmth drained from Alice’s eyes when she saw Jughead. ‘Who is this, Elizabeth?’

‘F.P.’s son, Jughead.’ Betty took Jughead’s hand. ‘He was  honourably discharged just before The War’s end.’

‘Hmm.’ Alice’s gaze lingered a long time at the blank space where Jughead’s leg would have been, a dark line between her brows. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Mom.’ Betty frowned. 

Jughead came forward on his crutches to shake Alice’s hand, which felt cold and limp in his. He wished he'd thought to put on his prosthetic, but it still felt like a bulky addition to his body, rather than an extension. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Cooper.’

‘Ms.’

‘ Ms Cooper.’

Charlie seemed to sense some of the tension in the room, setting the pile of books down and picking one off the top. ‘Grandma, will you read me?’

‘After we’ve eaten, dear.’ Alice wrinkled her nose. ‘Elizabeth, dear, where is the music?’

‘Coming right up.’ Betty seemed glad for any excuse to flee the room, and soon a record played, sickly sweet from the modest player in the living room.

_A rose must remain with the sun and the rain_   
_Or its lovely promise won't come true_   
_To each his own, to each his own_   
_And my own is you_   
  
_What good is a song if the words just don't belong?_   
_And a dream must be a dream for two_   
_No good alone, to each his own_   
_For me there's you_

It wasn’t the typical swing music he and Betty sometimes danced to- it was slower, sedated, like someone had sucked all the life from every note. 

‘That record machine broken?’ F.P. came down the stairs, before he spotted Alice. ‘Ah. I thought I heard cloven hooves outside.’

‘Calling me the devil? Very original, F.P.’

‘Actually, I was calling you a goat. You goat.’

‘Hey.’ Jughead frowned, stepping between them with a tense smile. ‘Let’s eat.’

Alice walked through to the kitchen with her nose in the air, and Jughead elbowed F.P..

‘The hell was that about?’

‘We’re adults, boy.’ F.P. smirked. ‘Got a history all our own.’

‘Keep it in the past. For Betty’s sake.’

F.P. shrugged, before taking a seat at the dining table. Charlie came and sat between him and Alice. Jughead took a seat next to Betty, at the head of the table.

‘Dig in, everyone.’ Betty smiled weakly, and Jughead noticed she only took two finger sandwiches for herself, despite the pile in the  centre of the table. 

At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged as if to say, _I’ll tell you later_. He gave her knee a squeeze under the table.

They ate quietly, Charlie being the main source of noise at the table as he asked Jughead questions, much to Alice’s disgust.

‘Daddy, you were a soldier?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Who did you fight?’ 

Jughead caught eyes with Betty. _How do we tell him about this?_

‘People who had to fight me and my friends.’

‘You mean the Krauts and Italians.’ Alice pointed out, before leaning into Charlie and whispering. ‘Bad people who want to take away your freedom, darling.’

‘Was it scary, Daddy?’ Charlie's eyes were wide, food forgotten in front of him.

‘I don’t think there’s such a thing as bad people, actually.’ Jughead felt the heat rising to his face when Alice stared daggers at him. ‘I think there’s people all over the world who, when they see something they think is wrong, they fight.’

‘And they were very wrong to think we wouldn’t fight back.’ Alice nodded. ‘They do all sorts of animal things to people in Italy, you know, Charles. You’re not allowed to eat anything but pasta, they don’t have hamburgers or milkshakes. They don't like people like us- good, freedom-loving people. They'd be happy to  shoot you in the head or chop off your-’ She caught eyes with Jughead. ‘Well, your... father can tell you all about that.’

‘Mom!’ Betty gaped at her mother.

‘What? The boy won’t know anything about anything if you mollycoddle him.’

‘And he’ll be scared of everything if you lie like that.’ Jughead crossed his arms. 

‘Grandma, are you lying?’ Charlie’s eyes widened at Alice.

‘No. Go play with your books, dear. We’ll call you when it’s time for dessert.’

Charlie didn’t need to be told twice. F.P. followed him into the next room at Betty’s behest, glaring at Alice the whole way.

'Mom, we've talked about this. Charlie doesn't need to know about the war until he's older. I don't want him to grow up with a bias he doesn't need.'

'You're raising him to be a coward. What happens when the next war comes along and he's no idea what he's up against?'

'Maybe he won't have to be a soldier.' Jughead interjected, internally smacking himself when Alice's sharp eyes pierced his.

'I'd have thought you of all people would know the importance of the fight.'

'I'm a lover, not a fighter, Ms Cooper.' Jughead's hand found Betty's on top of the table and squeezed.

‘So,’ Alice narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re Charles’ real father?’

‘I told you, mom. He’s a Jones on his birth certificate.’

‘I’m just trying to keep track of your dalliances, dear.’ Alice sniffed. 

‘He’s my son.’ Jughead said, baring his teeth.

‘And you’re my daughter’s  fancyman ? _Not_ Sweet Pea?’

Betty choked on her tea. Jughead rubbed her back soothingly before turning back to Alice. 

‘Everyone has a past,  Ms Cooper. Maybe you should ask my dad about yours.’

He’d never seen a face turn red so fast. 

‘How dare you-’

‘How dare _you,_ mom?’

Everyone’s heads whipped around to face Betty, who was seething at the head of the table. 

‘You kicked me out when you found out I was pregnant. Even though, if I remember correctly, you and dad had been married for six months before Polly was born. Now, I don’t have the best math, but I know how that works out. You’re a hypocrite.’

‘I’d hoped you’d learn from my mistakes. Your sister didn’t. I thought you were smarter, Elizabeth.’

‘Betty is the smartest woman I know.’ Jughead glowered. ‘I don’t think you know what it is to be civil, but if you can’t figure it out fast I’d suggest you leave.’

The words were out of his mouth before he fully  realised the implications, but a  reassuring squeeze of the hand from Betty let him know he hadn’t overstepped.

Alice closed her eyes for a long time, before standing up and walking into the living room. Minutes later, she could be heard reading to Charlie in the sugar-sweet voice most adults use when talking to toddlers.

Betty and Jughead looked at each other. 

‘I’m sorry.’ Jughead started. ‘I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s okay.’ Betty smiled, but her eyes looked tired. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

He helped her clear the table and they brought plates of Betty’s fresh-baked cookies into the living room, where they took a seat on the couch and watched Alice and F.P. play with Charlie on the floor.

Alice didn’t cast so much as a cold glare towards Betty or Jughead, though her banter continued with F.P. when the two were building blocks with their grandson.

‘See this house, Charlie? Your grandma once got crushed by one, in Munchkinland.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Alice leaned in close to Charlie, ‘I’m no witch. Isn’t your grandfather a funny man?’ 

‘I like green blocks.’ Charlie said, so used to their bickering it went right over his head. 

Betty rolled her eyes at the lines exchanged between F.P. and her mother, not missing a certain warmth between the pair, hidden behind raised brows and gritted teeth. 

Jughead’s own warmth beside her on the couch was a welcome distraction, his arm wrapped around her until it was time for Alice to leave. Everyone except for Charlie, who was too entranced by his blocks to offer more than a goodbye hug, walked her to the door.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Jughead.’ Alice kept her eyes downcast, but there was some sincerity in her voice. ‘I spoke rashly earlier.’

‘So did I.’ Jughead shrugged. ‘Let’s not let it happen again.’

A grin transformed the older woman’s face. ‘Yes.’

‘See you next month, mom?’ Betty asked. 

‘Of course.’

‘Say hello to Hades for me when you get home!’ F.P. called, prompting a very unladylike hand gesture from Alice, as she put on her Serpent jacket and hopped on her motorcycle, speeding back to the Southside.

‘Free for another month,’ F.P. sighed, heading back upstairs. ‘I need a rest after that.’

Jughead yawned. It was only six, but the day had taken something out of him. Looking down at Betty’s face, framed in the orange of the sunset, put it back. 

‘What’s that smile for?’

‘You’re amazing.’ She said, leaning up to kiss him, strawberry tea lingering on his lips. ‘I’ve never seen her come so close to apologising for anything.’

‘I think I should  apologise to you.’ Jughead said, leading them back into the house. ‘I could’ve really gummed things up, kicking her out like that.’

‘She needed to hear it.’ Betty waved his fears away. ‘Besides, you didn’t. Everything’s fine.’

Charlie had taken his blocks to his room upstairs, leaving them alone in the living room. Betty reclined on the sofa, but Jughead had other ideas. The sunlight flickering through the blinds created a ballroom of light across the simple cream carpet, all hues of bright oranges and soft yellows dancing there.

He knelt by the record player until he found the disk he was looking for, popping it on. 

The slow piano started up, and while Betty kept her eyes closed, a smile spread across her face like melted butter.

_Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above,_   
_Don't fence me in._   
_Let me ride through the_ _wide open_ _country that I love,_   
_Don't fence me in._   
_Let me be by myself in the_ _evenin_ _' breeze,_   
_And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees,_   
_Send me off forever but I ask you please,_   
_Don't fence me in._

When she did open her eyes, Jughead’s hand was extended for her to take. He was a clumsy dancer, unbalanced, but his movements held joy and the song was slow enough that they could simply sway, him singing softly to her,

_'Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle_   
_Underneath the western skies._   
_On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder_   
_'Till I see the mountains rise._

 _I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences_   
_And gaze at the moon 'till I lose my senses_   
_And I can't look at hovels and I can't stand fences_   
_Don't fence me in.'_

He let her spin out and gave her what was intended to be a peck, but turned into a deeper kiss as the song ended.

_Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies,_   
_Don't fence me in._   
_Let me ride through the_ _wide open_ _country that I love,_   
_Don't fence me in._   
_Let me be by myself in the_ _evenin_ _' breeze_   
_And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees_   
_Send me off forever but I ask you please,_   
_Don't fence me in_

The song ended simply, with their eyes closed and foreheads pressed close together. With her softness in his arms, he forgot about everything that had happened between the day they'd met and now. Had there ever been ugliness, really? So much had happened to create this slow moment where the only thing that existed was the sensation of Betty against him. Her subtle floral smell and soft blonde hair, the ever-shifting pink chiffon of her Sunday best dress.

'I love you.' He breathed, not wanting to break the perfect silence.

'I love you too.' She smiled against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wanted a confrontation with Alice. Let me just say: THANK YOU! This was going to be such a short chapter before I took this suggestion. And wound up running through an hour-long rabbithole of 1940s music. 
> 
> The song at the very end of this chapter is 'Don't Fence Me In' by Bing Crosby & The Andrews Sisters (no relation to Archie). Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMnLoOnrwbg
> 
> Honestly, so much fun writing this chapter. I'll be sad for the next chapter, which is the last one! (Unless anybody has anything else they want me to add, in which case, you have a week to let me know ;) )
> 
> As always, I hope you're all enjoying the story. Thank you so much for reading, for all your support, and just being here with me and Bughead for a while ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! Locked down like everyone else- what a weird time to be writing. I hope you're all healthy and okay. This whole thing has a wartime feel to it in my mind, which is probably why I'm posting this now after sitting on it for months... Consider the comments section a safe space for you to vent anything about lockdown, quarantine, anything really! Let's all be here for each other between chapters.
> 
> Nothing but Bughead and good times from here on out. Of course, not all the good times will be for poor old Jug and Betts... Or will they? ;)
> 
> As always, comment letting me know what you think and if you want the next chapter!


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